


Beautiful brains

by jadztone



Series: Sherlock Nanowrimo [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Multi, bonus christmas story, johnlock appears in 3rd chapter, post-S3, post-s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 02:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11393883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadztone/pseuds/jadztone
Summary: Mycroft goes to visit Molly post-Reichenbach because he's afraid she'll spill the beans that Sherlock isn't really dead.  The next time he sees her is 2 years later on the pretext of warning her about Moriarty's possible return.  Then a bonus Christmas chapter with bonus Johnlock.





	1. Brain Matter

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series of stories I wrote for Nanowrimo and posted on my tumbler page, sherlock-nanowrimo.tumblr.com. I was doing a story a day, generally leaving them open-ended if I wanted to add on to the story later in the month. The ones that I did add on to will be posted on AO3 as multiple chapters. They will all be posted as complete, with no expectation that I will ever revisit them. I haven't changed them from the way they were posted on tumblr, they have their issues, but I like to think of them as diamonds in the rough. The stories contain multiple crossovers with other fandoms, and multiple ships.

Mycroft’s assistant walked into his office and handed him the printout he’d asked for.  “Thank you, Anthea.”

She gave him an exasperated look.  “Why do you insist on calling me Anthea?”

He glanced up from the page he was studying.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  Wasn’t that the name you gave to John Watson when you first met him?”

She raised one eyebrow. “You are far more cheeky than you ever let on to anyone.”

Mycroft leaned back in his chair.  “Yes, well, cheekiness isn’t an advantage in my position.”

She perched on the edge of the desk.  “But it is considered to be a very… sexy personality trait.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. “I would find that to be a worrisome statement if I didn’t know that you are going to be married to a very lovely woman a week from Saturday.”

She laughed.  “Mr. Holmes, I’ve known for a long time that you are a very eligible bachelor.  Not just for your powerful position, or your bank account.  You really have a lot to offer someone.  If only you would let some lucky man or woman take you up on it.”

“You really are a hopeless romantic, my dear.  And your ever present desire to pair me off with someone just goes to show that you don’t know me as well as you think.”

She gave him a knowing look. “Or….you don’t know yourself as well as you think.  I know I’m overstepping my bounds on this, but what the hell.  I’m getting married.  Mr. Holmes, you are a lonely man.  I’m not saying that as someone who is experiencing romantic bliss and thinks everyone else should be deliriously happy or something is wrong with them.  I know that there are people who are perfectly content not being paired off.  But I’ve known you intimately for years.  I know you think that you are doomed to stay single because you don’t find anyone intellectually stimulating.  But there’s more to life than intellect.  You could find someone emotionally stimulating.  And don’t give me that crap about caring not being an advantage.  I think you are realizing over time that preventing yourself from caring comes with its own consequences.”  She paused and then gazed at him challengingly.

Mycroft’s eyes widened as he contemplated his assistant’s rare burst of verbosity.  “Well now.  That was quite a lovely speech.  I am not being sarcastic when I say that I really do appreciate your concern for me.”

She sighed.  “I know, I know.  Butt out.”  She stood up and thrust her hip out at him to emphasize her words, then walked out the door.

Mycroft gazed thoughtfully at the door, then opened up his laptop and went to Molly’s twitter page. He checked it periodically to make sure she wasn’t spilling any beans about Sherlock.  It was filled with the typical retweets common on social media. Most of the original posts were pictures of her siblings’ children and something she called “dog bothering.” She didn’t have a dog of her own, but she loved them and often accosted dog owners to take pictures of their pets. It was actually a very pragmatic way of dealing with the yearning for a pet when it isn’t practical to own one. Molly’s schedule was very full and unpredictable.  Not practical to own her own dog.  So she “bothered” other people’s dogs.  Perhaps if his family had employed such a strategy, the whole Redbeard debacle could have been avoided.

Mycroft’s musings ground to a halt when he saw something that Molly tweeted earlier this morning. It was very troubling.  He launched out of his chair and grabbed his coat and scarf.  As he passed his assistant in the outer room, he said, “Forward my calls to my mobile phone. But only level 2 and above. Anything else can wait.”

“Going to visit Molly again?”  Her voice and gaze were sly as she said it.  Mycroft looked at her sharply, but didn’t say anything as he walked out the door.

Mycroft strode into the morgue at St. Bart’s, spotting Molly immediately.  Fortunately she was alone.  Adopting an expression of longsuffering annoyance, he started to say, “Molly, about your tweet this morning….”

She held up a hand, encased in latex free gloves, her index finger raised.  It appeared to be covered in brain matter.  He spared a quick glance at the corpse in front of her, the skull having been opened with a stryker saw.  He saw that the occipital lobe had a sizeable hole, probably from a bullet, and concluded that it was definitely brain matter.

Mycroft watched as she went about the work of separating the brain from the skull.  When she finished, she carefully placed the brain in a stainless steel bowl.  Molly looked up and smiled at him, as she peeled the gloves off.  He couldn’t help but notice that she had such a pleasant smile, especially when she had accomplished something and there was a bit of a satisfactory smirk to it.  “So, you mentioned my tweet?”

Mycroft cleared his throat. “Yes, erm, I couldn’t help but notice that you responded to someone saying something derogatory about Sherlock, and when you referred to him, you did so in the present.  We’ve talked about this.  You have to be careful to make the world believe that you believe he is dead.”

She cocked her head, her eyes twinkling.  “You keep giving me these dire warnings about being careful, yet you yourself have visited me at St. Bart’s no less than three times since Sherlock’s supposed death.” She said the last in a whisper, looking around.  “Don’t you think that might be a bit more suspicious than a random tweet by a mournful friend that says ‘is’ rather than ‘was’?”

Mycroft bristled at her observation.  “Are you saying that I am being less careful than you are?”

Molly restrained the smile that wanted to break forth.  “I’m saying that you are worried about your brother and your judgment may not be as reliable as it would be in other cases.”

Mycroft pursed his lips. “What about your judgment?  You’re in love with my brother, and any criticisms of him must be as a blow to your heart.  You can’t help but respond, as you did earlier with that tweet.”

Molly sighed.  “I’m not in love with him, Mycroft.  I know I have feelings for him, but love is something you feel for someone you know intimately.  I don’t know him intimately.  I certainly don’t know him as well as John.  I care about him a great deal, so I watched him more than I would other people, and that was how I could tell that something was very wrong. It was what finally made him open up to me.  But those feelings don’t make me stupid.  If someone says something nasty about him on the internet, it makes sense for me as his friend to say something in defense.  It would look more odd if I didn’t say anything.”

“So you’re saying that tweet was deliberate?”

“Of course, and if you were thinking clearly, you would have seen that.”

Mycroft was offended right to his core.  “I deeply resent that.”

Molly started to giggle. “You and your brother are so much alike.”  Her expression sobered.  “The two of you like to pretend that the only thing that drives you is intellect, but really you are just as ruled by your emotions as us regular folk.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, in your case, it’s the fact that you can’t see clearly when it comes to your brother. You worry unnecessarily, and no one who is only ruled by logic would bother with that.”

Mycroft stared in disbelief at Molly.  “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know that you value intellect above all else.  Sherlock is a genius, and it is well known that you surpass him.  But you know how much I value intellect?”  She held up the stainless steel bowl.   “There were two people that came into the morgue today.  One person was a henchman for a small time crook.  He was pretty dumb.  Only slightly more sentient than a block of wood.  He was shot by a rival of the crook he was protecting. The other person was a chess player.  He worked in a bank.  Committed suicide because he was insider trading and got caught.  Which of those brains do you suppose is in here tonight?”  She held up the bowl.

“Based on the trajectory of the bullet, I’d say it was the henchman.”

Molly haphazardly slammed the bowl down onto the countertop.  “The point, as you very well know, is that once your brain is in that bowl, intellect doesn’t matter.”

Mycroft walked up to her and leaned in very close, saying quietly in her ear, “And neither does anything else.  In the end, nothing matters.”

Molly quickly turned to face him, her body coming even closer to him than before.  “That’s not true, though.”  Mycroft should have pulled away, she was way too close to him for comfort.  “In the end what matters is what you leave behind to the people you knew.  You’re dead, but they are still alive.  So, the number of wrinkles on your cortex are irrelevant.”

Mycroft swung around so that his back was to Molly, and strode to the other side of the counter. “I know what you’re doing.  I find it to be very distasteful.”

Molly barely suppressed rolling her eyes.  “Enlighten me.  What am I doing?”

“You can’t have Sherlock. Not only has he rejected you on countless occasions, but now he’s…”Mycroft’s gaze flitted around the empty room. “…no longer in the land of the living.  Why not go for the next best thing?  The smarter brother.”

Molly smiled grimly.  “It’s not going to work, Mycroft.  You’re not going to needle me into ignoring what I see in you.”

Mycroft strode a few feet away, pretending interest in the scales, which were busy measuring the weight of a spleen.  “I suppose I should just resign myself to the fact that you’re not going to be able to keep Sherlock’s secret.  Like every other person on earth you are incapable of keeping a secret of that importance.  It will come dribbling out of your mouth at the first opportunity.”

Molly looked at him pityingly.  “I know how much you fear secrets.  Your parents told me about Redbeard.”

Mycroft started violently, then was shocked by his reaction.  “How..how..”  Oh no, his self-control was crumbling.

Molly looked apprehensive. “That last time they came to visit the two of you.  They came here because that was where Mrs. Hudson guessed Sherlock would be.  We got to talking.”

Mycroft turned heavily away from her and leaned forward on the counter.  Soon he felt her gentle hand on his arm.  Then he realized, to his dismay, that she was leaning her forehead against his shoulder.  “Sherlock lost his dog that day.  You lost your innocence.  You had to keep your parents’ secret.  You had to lie to him.  And now you’re lying to the world about his death.   Allowing them to think he’s a terrible person, in order to protect him. And the fact that I have the freedom to defend his honor, on twitter of all places, hurts you more than you realized.”

Mycroft sucked in a shuddering breath.  He tried to come up with something scathing in response, but was done in.  Was this how Sherlock had felt, when she’d penetrated his armor?  Who was this woman?  Her IQ might not come even close to rivaling his, but her capacity to understand people was remarkable.  

Mycroft was not able to suppress a small nervous giggle that escaped.  “You know, you’d be an amazing undercover agent.”  

Her small hand squeezed his arm.  “Look at me.”

He turned around slowly and looked down at her.  She gazed up at him with her huge eyes that framed her pert nose and soft mouth.  He frowned slightly.  Why did he…why did the word soft come to mind?  Incredulously, he found himself lowering his head, slowly and tentatively, searching her face for any sign that she thought he was crazy for what he was about to do.  Her lips curved upward as she tilted her face up.

The door to the morgue banged open.  “Hey Molly, about that chess player, I’ve found some new evidence that it might not be suic….”  The voice stopped.  Mycroft knew without looking that it was Lestrade, and could also tell that he’d seen them about to kiss.

Mycroft drew in a deep breath, then said scoldingly.  “Now Molly, I know you want to mourn Sherlock with me, but I’m afraid I can’t keep coming down to the morgue to talk out our feelings.  Eventually we’re going to have to move on.”

Her gaze resigned, she threw up her hands.  “I’m sorry, Mycroft.  I can’t help it.  I miss him so much.”  She put her hand to her mouth and gave an exaggerated sob.  Then she suddenly flung her arms around him and nestled her face into his neck.  She loudly said, “Thank you for coming down.  It means so much to me!”  What Greg couldn’t see was that she’d placed a tiny kiss on his neck, and that her hand ever so gently caressed the hair where it brushed up against his collar.  

His hands automatically went to the small of her back and pulled her to him.  But he recovered his senses and let go, stepping back from her. He gave a short nod to her and to Lestrade, then strode from the room.  He was determined to put such absurdity behind him.  Clearly this was the result of his assistant messing with his head earlier. Her revenge for him calling her Anthea.

Mycroft reached his car and slid into the back seat.  He checked his mobile and saw that he had 24 missed calls.  24 times that his country had needed him while he preoccupied himself with a woman who had a crush on his not-dead younger brother.  He was always obsessing about his weight, worrying about his body getting too big.  Maybe he should be more concerned about the same thing happening to his heart.


	2. The ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later...

Molly lounged on her bed, reading the Sunday paper.  Toby, as usual, was getting in the way.  And, as usual, she was too charmed by his little furry face to get annoyed.  She scratched him under the chin.  She sipped her tea and turned the page.  The news was full of speculation about the hijacking of television screens everywhere, ostensibly by Moriarty.  “Did you miss me?  Did you miss me?”  It wasn’t him, though.  She’d examined his body.  Sherlock had seen it as well, he and Mycroft sat in on her autopsy.  The three of them had been well convinced it was Moriarty.

Her doorbell rang.  Molly glanced up, wondering who would be calling on a Sunday morning.  It was the one time of the week that she hated to be disturbed.  She wondered if it was Sherlock.  He was supposed to be sent off, punishment for killing Magnussen.  But she wouldn’t be surprised if it were postponed now that London was in full blown hysteria.  

She got up and wondered briefly if she should throw on some regular clothes. She was in her typical t-shirt and pajama bottoms that she sported on Sunday mornings.  Sherlock would know this, having used her place as a bolt hole, so it was a waste of time to change.  She hurried to the door and threw it open.  To her utter shock, Mycroft was standing there.  “M…Mycroft?”

He frowned.  “You look like you weren’t expecting me to stand here.  Does that mean you didn’t check the peep hole first?  You really should check the peephole first, even if you’re expecting someone.”

She blinked.  “This is the first time you’ve come to see me in two years, and that’s all you have to say?!”

Mycroft shrugged.  “I’m worried for your safety.  That’s why I came.  I wanted to discuss the whole Moriarty thing with you.”

Molly couldn’t believe it.  She wanted to smack him.  What was it about the Holmes boys, she was always wanting to smack them?  Two years ago, they had almost kissed.  She did kiss him, after a fashion. Just a little peck on his neck, but it had been an intimate gesture meant to let him know that she was interested.  To encourage him to come back later to pick up where they left off before Greg interrupted. But he never came back. Ever.  She’d tried to lure him back with tweets that would annoy him but still leave the rest of the world oblivious.  He never took the bait.  She decided in the end that she had completely misinterpreted that spark of interest in him.  The spark that she’d never seen in Sherlock, even when he was fake flirting to get her to do him a favor.  It had given her such a thrill, that a man as dynamic as Mycroft wanted her.  But it wasn’t real.  He would have come back, if he really wanted her.  Eventually she met Tom and decided to swear off men with the last name of Holmes for good.    

And now, here he was, back again.  She wanted to slam the door in his face, but she knew it would be childish. It wasn’t his fault she felt rejected. He’d never led her on, he’d only interacted with her as part of a conspiracy regarding his brother.  Molly stepped back, holding the door open wider. “Come in.”

Mycroft stepped into her flat.  He glanced at her attire as he came in.  “You look…comfy.”

She glanced at his three-piece suit.  “And you look stiff.  Care for some tea?”

He hesitated a moment, then said, “That would be lovely.”

Molly went over to the kitchen and grabbed a cup and saucer, then she led the way down the hallway.  Mycroft was about to follow her, then hesitated.  “Er, where are we going?”

She turned to look at him.  “We’re going to my bedroom.  Sunday mornings I take my tea in the bedroom with my newspapers.  I have a hot pot to keep the tea hot, and there’s plenty of it.”

“Your….bedroom?”  Mycroft looked floored.

Molly raised her chin.  “Mycroft, you’ve interrupted what is, for me, the most important time of the week.  It gives me the serenity I need to face a week filled with death investigations.  If you want to discuss Moriarty with me, it’s going to be in my bedroom.”  She turned away and marched to the end of the hall.

She entered the bedroom and flopped down on the bed.  She watched as Mycroft came through the door, and then hesitated.  He looked like he was waiting for a shark to leap out of the carpet and swallow him. He looked around.  “I don’t see a chair.”

“You can sit on the bed.”  She poured some tea into the cup, then looked up at him.  “How do you like it?”

Mycroft had been about to sit, but then straightened up.  “I beg your pardon?”

She held up the cup.  “How do you like your tea?”

He took it from her briskly, his cheeks tinged pink.  “Straight.”  Molly stifled a giggle.  Mycroft once again lowered himself to the bed, rather reluctantly by the looks of it. Boy, had she misjudged his interest in her.  He looked like he would rather be boiled alive than sitting on her bed.  Mycroft took a sip of tea and said, “Well, this is…unconventional.  Not the part about your little ritual.  It’s understandable given the important work you do.  I actually have a similar one.  I mean the part about inviting someone who is practically a stranger into the ritual.”

She retrieved her own cup and topped it up.  “I guess we are practically strangers or else you would know how important it is to me that I am left to my ritual in peace.  But we have someone very important in common.”

Mycroft sipped his tea.  “Ah yes, Sherlock.  He’s been here, in your bedroom, as well.”  Molly looked at him sharply.  He returned her gaze.  “I figured out that this was a new bolt hole for him.  And if I figured it out, someone else might figure it out.  With this new development… I was worried about you.”

She flushed slightly, touched at his concern.  “I’m not in danger.  Whoever it is will overlook me, just like Moriarty did.”

“No, they won’t make the same mistake.  In the year that Sherlock’s been back, there’s been a lot of speculation as to how he faked his death, and your name comes up a lot.  In fact, I’ve had to squash more than a few attempts to bring charges against you.”

Molly blinked at him, horrified.  “I never thought about that.  It never occurred to me that I could be punished for helping Sherlock.”

“Well, it occurred to me, and I’ve made sure it wouldn’t happen.”

She beamed at him.  “Thank you so much.”

Mycroft shrugged one shoulder.  “It’s the least I could do, with how much you’ve helped my little brother.” He sipped his tea and looked casually around the room.  “I heard you gave him quite the dressing down when John found him in that drug den.”

“I couldn’t believe he’d be so stupid.”

“I completely agree.  Unfortunately, he was at it again yesterday.  When he was supposed to leave for parts unknown.”

Molly pressed her lips together, trying to control the flood of anger that coursed through her.  “I suppose, with what he’s been through…”

Mycroft sipped his tea.  “I just wish he’d confided in me.  Or anyone, really.  He didn’t even tell John.”

Molly shook her head.  “He thinks he has to be strong for John.  Live up to his hero worship.”

Mycroft gave her a considering look.  “You never cease to amaze me with your perceptiveness.”

She gazed back at him.  “I take after my mother, she could always see right through people.  It helps when folks don’t tend to notice me, they are more unguarded.”

Mycroft continued to stare at her for a few moments.  She felt her cheeks tinge.  Mycroft finally looked down at his tea cup.  “He used the time when he was high to go into his mind palace and try to figure out how Moriarty could possibly be back.  He imagined himself working an unsolved case from 1895.  Everyone he knows was featured in his hallucination.  Even us.” He smiled at her.  

“Really?  Exactly what were we doing in this dream of his?”

“The same things that we do in the present.  You were examining murder victims.  I was in the Diogenes Club.”

“I was in the morgue in 1895?  His dream was a lot more progressive than reality.”

“Not quite.  In his imaginings, you were pretending to be a man.  Your hair was short, you wore a suit.  You even had a fake mustache.”

Molly burst out laughing, shaking her head.  “Of course I would be a man.  He never has seen me as a woman.”  She sighed.

“Yes, well, his view of me was even more unflattering.  I was fat.  Extremely fat.  We even had a bet going on to see how many more years I would have left.”

Molly’s expression was appalled, but also trying to hold back laughter.  “Why in the world would he imagine you that way? That makes no sense!”

“It does if you know me as well as Sherlock does.  When I was younger, I struggled with a weakness for food.  I have more self-control now, and exercise frequently to offset those times when I do…indulge.  Sherlock likes to tease me about it.”

Molly looked at him thoughtfully.  “So, there is something you crave.  You always seem wound so tightly, that I wondered if there was anything you took pleasure in.”

Mycroft looked back at her again.  “I don’t deny myself pleasure.  I’m just careful about what…or who I take pleasure in.”  Molly sucked in her breath at what she saw in his eyes.

Toby, who’d run under the bed as soon as he’d heard a stranger’s voice, decided to reluctantly come out.  He looked up at Mycroft.  Mycroft stared down at him.  Molly bit her lip hard not to laugh out loud at the fact that both of them had the exact same expressions on their faces.  Toby jumped up on the bed and began to rub up against Mycroft’s suit. After a moment, Mycroft started petting him.  “I thought you liked dogs.  You’re always tweeting about dogs.”

Molly shrugged.  “I like both cats and dogs.  Right now, I can only be responsible for a cat.”

“I thought most people only liked one or the other.”

“I like both, and all kinds of breeds.  I don’t have a particular type.”

“That’s not what I heard.”  He smiled to soften the teasing.

She looked down.  “You mean Tom.  My ex-fiance whom everyone thinks looks like Sherlock.  I admit there was a resemblance.  But it turns out that it wasn’t really Sherlock’s good looks I was attracted to.  I realized I was more drawn to his intellect.  Tom…didn’t have that.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows went skyward.  “What?  Are you saying that intellect does matter after all?”

He was referring to their last conversation.  Molly sighed.  “Of course intellect matters.  The problem is when you make it so important that you end up denying yourself what matters the most.   Companionship.  Love. Sharing your life with people. With one person, maybe.”

Mycroft turned away.  “Maybe those things matter to you.”

Molly said softly, “I think those things matter to you, too.”

He shook his head.  “You sound like my brother.  Now that he’s surrounded by friends, he thinks I’m lonely.”

She smiled.  “You should listen to him, he is a genius.”

“I’m smarter than him, and I think I should know whether I’m lonely.”

“When Moriarty was after him, Sherlock wouldn’t admit to himself or anyone else that he wasn’t okay.  But I could tell.  And I’m right this time, too.  You want companionship, but you’re afraid that you wouldn’t be able to respect someone if they don’t match your intellect.”

“You should have gone into psychology instead of pathology, you seem to enjoy it so much.”

“I don’t have to have a degree to know what I saw your eyes that night, the last time I saw you.  Loneliness. Yearning.”

He tried to look incredulous, but kept faltering.  “Yearning for what?”  

Molly leaned over and whispered in his ear.  “Me.”  She could almost feel a shudder ripple through him.

She straightened up and gave him a piercing look.  “Why did you never come to see me again?  After you almost kissed me?”

Mycroft looked away from her.  He swallowed. “I said I don’t deny myself pleasure. What I do deny myself, what I can’t allow, is to care about anyone except my parents and Sherlock.”  He looked back at her.  “If I only wanted sex with you, I would have come back.  But I knew that it could never be just that with you.  I would…develop feelings.”

Molly felt tears prick her eyes.  “What is so wrong with having feelings for someone?”

“Feelings in general?  Dangerous. Caring is not an advantage, and I’ve seen the damage it can do.  Feelings for you in particular?  Even more dangerous.  I will not be your Sherlock-substitute.  I’ve seen how that worked out when you tried it with Tom.”

Molly exhaled in dismay.  “That’s not fair!  I just told you that after the Tom fiasco I realized my attraction to Sherlock wasn’t his looks or his stupid coat and scarf.  It was his beautiful brain.  That’s why I was so upset when he was scrambling it with drugs.  You have a beautiful brain, too.  I got to see it in action when we were planning Sherlock’s death. I found myself wishing that it was you that I’d known all these years, that it was you who kept coming around St. Bart’s and dazzling me with your deductions.  And you did, actually.  While he was pretending to be dead, you did come around.  And I enjoyed every moment.  But then you stopped.”

“And then Sherlock came back and you went right back to worshiping him. Even letting him sleep in your bed.” He glanced down at her rumpled comforter.  “As I said, I’m not going to be a Sherlock-substitute.”  He stood up, agitated.

Molly stood up too.  “That’s all he’s doing here - sleeping.  It’s a favor to a good friend, because yes, I still care about him, still admire his brilliance.  But I don’t worship him.  I don’t want him in that way anymore.  Not after I’d seen for myself the difference in the way he looks at me and the way you look at me.  If anything, he’s a….”  She swallowed hard.  “he’s a Mycroft-substitute.”  Tears started rolling down her cheeks.  

He gazed down at her, fighting for self-control.  “I wish I could believe you.”

“Believe this – he’s been here plenty of times on a Sunday.  And you know where he spent those Sundays?  On the couch in the living room.  And I was in here, with the door closed, finding my serenity on my own.  I never let anyone in during my ritual, not even Sherlock.  But I let you in.  Didn’t even hesitate.”

Mycroft took several deep breaths.  “But look at the two of us.  What are those, ducks on your pajamas?”

“Yes, and you have pin stripes on your suit.  Who cares?”

“You do, apparently.  You care. About me.”  He looked at her, as if he couldn’t believe it.

“And so do you,” she said softly.  “You already care.  The barn door’s already open.  So stop fighting it.”

He looked around the room.  Then down at the cat, who was silently judging him.  Then he looked at Molly.  “Do you think you have any room in your ritual for kissing?”

She smiled up at him.  “I think that your kisses would make me feel very serene.”

He put his hands on either side of her face and leaned down, whispering.  “Don’t be so sure about that, Molly mine.”  Then he kissed her.  And she felt anything but serene.


	3. Christmas Bonus Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written Dec 25th, long after Nanowrimo was complete. I just really wanted to write some holiday fluff and decided on Mollcroft with a side of Johnlock.

Mycroft watched as his mother diced the potatoes efficiently, passing them off to Molly, who placed them in the boiling water.  “You haven’t oversalted the water, have you dear?  Mr. Holmes has strict instructions from his doctor about salt intake.”

Molly smiled at her.  “Of course not, I’ve been very careful.”

Mrs. Holmes beamed and took out another potato.  It took every effort of will that Mycroft possessed not to check his mobile. The last time he’d so much as reached for it, he’d gotten double barrel death glares from his mother and Molly. It wasn’t fair, Molly was supposed to be on his side.  Isn’t that what relationships were about?  But she’d agreed with his mother that he needed to detach from work for the holiday.  As if the things that needed his attention were going to be so fair-minded as to do the same.  He wondered how he was going to survive the next week.  It was Christmas Eve, and they’d only just arrived today.  He’d promised his parents they’d stay on through New Years.

Sherlock walked into the kitchen.  “You’re not chopping potatoes on Mycroft’s laptop again, are you, Mother?”

Mycroft raised one eyebrow.  “I learned my lesson after last year, not to leave my laptop vulnerable to mother’s potatoes and my brother’s sticky fingers.  It’s well hidden this time.”  He smirked.

Sherlock looked him up and down.  “You’ve put it in the cellar.”  He narrowed his eyes.  “Behind the gardening tools, under a tarp.”

Mycroft gave him a thunderous look.  “Sherlock!”

Mrs. Holmes piped up.  “Now, boys! Behave yourself!”  Mycroft looked over at Molly, who was stifling a giggle. He couldn’t help but smile.  He was glad she was enjoying herself.  He might not be happy about spending this much time away from his duties, but at least he was suffering in her lovely company.

Sherlock saw them looking at each other.  “Are you two going to be doing that the whole time?  It’s difficult enough to reconcile that Mycroft has suddenly decided that caring IS an advantage.  But watching the two of you make eyes at each other will be more than I can handle.”

Mrs. Holmes shook a finger at him.  “It will do you good to see your brother in love, maybe it will thaw you out as well.”

“I don’t need to thaw, I am plenty passionate about my work.”

Mrs. Holmes smiled.  “Yes, dear, and it is a joy to see that you have found your niche in life.  But wouldn’t you like someone to share it with?”

Sherlock sighed.  “See, Mycroft?  See what you’ve done?  Our mother  _had_  resigned herself to both of her sons remaining bachelors forever, but now you’ve gone and paired off and given her hope that the same thing will happen to me.  I’ll never hear the end of it now, and it’s all your fault.”

Mycroft smiled wickedly.  “Well now, this is a lovely Christmas present.  If I had known that falling in love would have the delightful bonus of annoying you, I would have done it long ago.  I’m actually surprised at your reaction, Sherlock.  As I recall, when you came back Serbia you were accusing me of being lonely and not having found a goldfish.  I’d have thought this would make you happy.”

Sherlock shook his head.  “I was talking about befriending someone.  Friends are great because you don’t have to be lonely, but you can still keep your head.  Once romance enters the picture, you might as well pack up your brain and put it in cold storage.”

“You’d be surprised, little brother.  I’m learning that I’ve been wrong about a lot of things.”  He looked over at Molly again, who glanced up from the stove and smiled at him.

Sherlock made a disgusted noise and stood up.  “I’m going to find out where John got to.”  He strode out of the kitchen.

Molly cleared her throat.  “I’m so glad that John came with Sherlock.  I think he needed to get out of London for a while.  Too many reminders of Mary, I’m sure.”

There was a loud whack, and Molly jumped.  Mycroft looked over at where his mother had chopped a potato in half with one swing of the butcher knife.  The expression on her face was murderous.  “Erm, Molly dear, it’s probably best not to mention that name in front of Mother.”

Molly blinked. “Oh!  Oh, I’m so sorry.  No, of course not.”  She gave Mrs. Holmes an apologetic look, and Mrs. Holmes patted her hand.  Molly looked back over at Mycroft.  “Did you really hide your laptop in the cellar?

Mycroft smirked.  “Of course not, my dear.  I just wanted Sherlock to think I did.  I hid it somewhere that he would never go.”

Molly smiled quizzically.  “Where?”

“Your underwear drawer.”

“Mycroft!” She slapped his arm with a kitchen towel and tried not to laugh.

 Later, as everyone gathered around for dinner, Mrs. Holmes asked Mycroft, “Is it true, dear, that you and Molly haven’t told anyone other than us that you are dating?”

“It’s true, Mother.  We are keeping it a secret.”

Sherlock raised one eyebrow.  “Ashamed of her, are you?”

Mycroft glared at him.  “You know very well, brother mine, why it’s a secret.  It was, after all, only a year ago that we all suffered the consequences of what happens when someone powerful tries to get to me through the people I love.”

Sherlock gazed at him steadily.  “Indeed, Mycroft.  Which is why I wonder how you could have been so colossally stupid as to fall in love. Sooner or later you will have to reveal your relationship to the world, and then there will be a target on Molly’s back.”

Mycroft gripped his knife and fork more firmly. He looked down at his plate, striving for control.  “Love is not something you can just stop from happening.  I thought I was doing a fine job of it, but it turns out that I just hadn’t met the woman who could blow through my defenses like so much tissue paper. Until now.”  He looked over at Molly.  She blushed and smiled at him.  She had gotten dressed up for dinner.  Her hair fell in soft curls around her face.  She wore a dress that, while demure enough for the company of his parents, still showed hints of her tempting figure.  

Sherlock laughed derisively.  “What a load of sentimental bollocks.  You fell in love because you were too overcome by your loneliness.  It made you weak.  I told you to make friends, Mycroft.  If you had a friend, you wouldn’t have been vulnerable to romance and you wouldn’t be endangering Molly’s life.”

Mycroft lifted his chin.  “There’s an obvious flaw in your logic, Sherlock.  John is only your friend, and yet Magnussen used him to get to you.”

John piped up.  “Don’t say that name.  Don’t.” He strove to keep his expression neutral.

Sherlock glanced at him.  “I’ll concede that friends can make you vulnerable as well, but at least they don’t make you lose your head.  As long as I have John, my heart and my head is safe from romantic nonsense.”

Molly suddenly burst out laughing.  Everyone gave her a startled look.  She flushed and put her hand to her mouth.  Mycroft narrowed his eyes.  She knows something.  Molly cleared her throat.  “Erm, it’s been difficult keeping it a secret, but I’m so glad that Mycroft agreed to tell you all.  Especially Sherlock.  Working together as often as we do, it was really hard not to let on I was dating his brother.”

Sherlock smirked.  “Oh, I knew.  It was obvious.”

John rolled his eyes.  “Sherlock, would you stop showing off.”

Sherlock ignored him.  “I knew that you were dating someone - you dressed with more care, wore lipstick more often.  Clearly, this was in case the object of your affection showed up at your place of work. I knew it wasn’t me, because you weren’t giving me as much marked attention as you did in the past.”

John murmured, “I’m sure that must have stung.”

Sherlock continued, “There were a couple of times you showed up wearing the same thing as the day before, so I knew it was pretty serious.  I wondered why you weren’t shouting it from the rooftops as you have been known to do in the past, and put it down to you wanting to keep it a secret.  Why would you keep it a secret from me?  It must be that it was someone I knew.  Lestrade, maybe?  But your behavior didn’t change when you worked with him in the morgue. John?  He was still with Mary at that point, although I did consider the possibility of an affair.  That would be the most logical reason for secrecy.”

John gave him a hurt look.  “You think I’m capable of cheating?”

“Of course not, which is why I dismissed it immediately. I also dismissed Mycroft when he came to mind.  That is, until he himself delivered to me irrefutable evidence that he was in fact dating Molly.”

Mycroft sighed.  “What evidence was that?”

Sherlock gave him a smug look.  “Cat hair.  One time you came to see me and it was all over you.  I know Toby’s hair anywhere.  I’ve gotten it on me whenever I used Molly’s flat as a bolt hole.”

Mr. Holmes chuckled.  “Cat hair!  So you have a cat, Molly?  I love cats, always have, but my lovely wife is allergic.”

Molly smiled.  “Yes, Mycroft told me, which is why I made sure to only pack freshly laundered clothes that Toby hadn’t contaminated yet.”

Sherlock interrupted.  “Speaking of your clothes, Molly, you should consider indexing your underwear.  Your underwear drawer was a mess.”  Everyone gave him a shocked look.  “Oh get your minds out of the gutter.  I was only in there retrieving Mycroft’s laptop.”  Mycroft sighed and shook his head.  “Anyway, think about it, Molly.  I know you’re here only a week, but it does save time.”

Mycroft decided to let the laptop thing slide.  “Don’t waste your breath, Sherlock.  I’ve tried convincing her and she just ignores me.”

Molly held up a hand.  “Could we not talk about my underwear sorting habits over dinner?”

Mrs. Holmes gave her a sympathetic smile.  “My dear, you never know what subject will come up with these two.”

John laughed.  “And now I know what you mean about the Christmas dinners, Mycroft. Well, I suppose at least no one is being drugged this year.”  He held up his glass, but looked down at it and then over at Sherlock.  “Right?”

“I have no reason for wanting you at my mercy.”

Molly choked on the wine she’d been sipping.  Mycroft shot her a keen look.  She gazed back at him, a knowing look on her face. Something was going on that she’d caught onto.  Must be something emotional in nature, she tended to be quicker at that than he was.

After dinner, the Holmes parents went for their usual after dinner walk, just the two of them.  The other four gathered in the den.  John helped Molly bring in tea.  After they had set down the two trays, they straightened up.  Molly was next to the tree and accidentally elbowed an ornament.  John caught it and put it back.  “Thank you, John, I’m so clumsy!”

John put a hand on her shoulder.  “No you’re not, Molly.”  He glanced up.  “Oh look. It’s mistletoe.”  He smiled and then leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

She giggled and then gave him a hug.  “Merry Christmas, John.  I’m so glad you joined us.”

He beamed at her.  “Me too, Molly.”

Sherlock leaped out of his chair.  “Now, now, John.  We all know that it wasn’t you that Molly wanted to kiss her under the mistletoe.”

John chuckled.  “Well, I guess you’re right about that.”

Sherlock advanced until he was next to them.  “Of course I’m right.”  Then he leaned over and, putting his hands on either side of her face, lowered his head and kissed Molly on the lips.

John bellowed, “Sherlock!”

Molly pushed Sherlock away, and then glared at him. Sherlock just looked over at John, an unreadable expression on his face.  Then they all looked at Mycroft.  

Mycroft stared back at them from his seat.  Then he rose to his feet.  He drew in his breath, trying to stay calm.  “I didn’t realize that you hated me that much, Sherlock.  You must have been thrilled when you realized I was dating Molly, because now you have ammunition.”  Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Molly stepped in between them.  “Mycroft, we need to talk in private.  There’s something you should know.  Please.”  She put her hand in his and tugged him out of the room.

Mycroft had been about to refuse, but she was giving him that knowing look again, which seemed out of place given the circumstances. So there must have been something he was missing.

She guided him through the kitchen and pushed him into the pantry and closed the door.  She gently placed her hands on his chest.  “Mycroft, what happened out there wasn’t about you.  He did it because John kissed me.”

He frowned.  “You think it was jealousy?”  She nodded.  “Are you telling me Sherlock is in love with you, too?”

She shook her head.  “No, of course not. John!  He’s in love with John.  I’ve been suspecting it for a while now, ever since the fallout with Mary and he moved back in to Baker Street.  I see them both a lot on their cases, and there’s something going on.  I think Sherlock is in love with John and it’s creating a lot of tension.  That’s what I kept reacting to over dinner.  The things he was saying about John.  I don’t think he even realizes what’s happened.”

Mycroft gazed at her thoughtfully.  “No, he wouldn’t.  He’s so arrogant about his ability to remain aloof.”  This was an amazing development.  Sherlock in love with John.  “Do you think it’s reciprocated?”

She sighed.  “I don’t know.  John’s been acting touchy as well, but it could be him dealing with the whole Mary thing. They argue a lot more than they used to.”

Mycroft blew out some air.  “His therapy files don’t mention anything about him being bisexual. Although that doesn’t mean anything. Dear me.  The first time my little brother falls in love, and it could be unrequited.”  He put his hands on her shoulders.  “That doesn’t give him an excuse, however, to mistreat you.  That must have been hurtful for him to use you like that.”

She smiled up at him and put a hand on his cheek.  “A long time ago it would have been.  Not anymore.  Now I just see it as typical Sherlock.”

This was wonderful to hear.  Even though he was sure she loved him, there was always a tiny part of him that wondered if some of her heart still belonged to Sherlock. Mycroft lowered his head and kissed her, a glow of happiness spreading through him.  He might learn to like Christmas after all.

The pantry door opened and they broke apart.  Mrs. Holmes chuckled.  “Oops, sorry dears!  I was just coming to get the sugar cubes.  There wasn’t any on the tea tray.”  

Blushing, Molly said, “Oh, that’s my fault!  I couldn’t find them and was going to ask Mycroft where they were, but…got distracted.”

Mycroft reached for the container and they filed out of the pantry and went back to the den.  Mr. Holmes was standing by the fire, but Sherlock and John weren’t there. That’s when they heard the sound of muffled arguing coming from outside.  Molly gave Mycroft a significant look.  

Mrs. Holmes tsked and put the sugar cubes on the tray. “What are those boys fussing about, now?”  She marched over to the front door and swung it open.  “Sherlock!  John! Tea is ready!  Come in out of the cold this instant.”  She stepped aside, and the two of them marched into the room, both looking sullen. Melting snowflakes glistened in their hair.

Molly gave a little yelp.  “Is it snowing?”  She rushed to the window and peered out.  A smile lit her face.  She looked over at Mycroft.  “It is snowing!”

Mycroft groaned.  “I suppose this means you’ll want to go out and frolic?”

She laughed.  “No, I’m perfectly capable of enjoying the snow from inside.”

They all sat down and Mrs. Holmes poured the tea. Mycroft found himself wishing it was a cigarette instead.  He looked up at Sherlock, who had a similar expression on his face.  Maybe they could sneak out later.  He wondered if he should confront Sherlock about Molly’s theory.

Mr. Holmes spoke up.  “Molly, you must share with us all about how you and Mike fell in love. Tell us about your first date!”

Sherlock made a gagging noise, but everyone ignored him. Molly beamed.  “It was so romantic.  He took me to this tiny little supper club that was known for being discreet, you know because we had to keep a low profile.  It had the most delicious food, and a live jazz ensemble.  We ate dinner and then danced the night away.”

John raised his eyebrows at Mycroft.  “Oh, you know how to dance too?”

Mrs. Holmes nodded.  “I made sure both my boys knew how to dance.  I think Sherlock took to it more than Mycroft, but they are both very good at it.  Do you know how to dance, John?”

John cleared his throat.  “I didn’t until Sherlock taught me.  It was for the wedding.  He wanted to make sure I didn’t look like an idiot.”

Mrs. Holmes beamed.  “Oh, how lovely.  What did he teach you?”

John shrugged.  “Just a couple of standards, like the waltz.”

Mr. Holmes nodded.  “You’ll find that it will come in very handy in the future.  Women love a man who can dance.”  He twinkled at his wife.  He looked over at Molly.  “What is your favorite dance, dear?”

Molly’s cheeks tinged pink.  “The tango.  Mycroft is very good at it.”

Sherlock blurted.  “I’m better.”

Mycroft gave him an assessing look.  “You are indeed superior at tango.  Was that one of the dances you taught John?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  “No.  The tango isn’t typically played at weddings.”

“Well, you should teach him.  As Father said, it will come in handy for him when he starts to date again.  Women will find him irresistible.”

Sherlock glared at him, his lips compressed in a thin line. Mycroft felt Molly tugging at his sleeve, but he pretended not to notice.  

Unaware of the tension, Mrs. Holmes clapped her hands together.  “What a delightful idea!  You can teach him tonight!  We’ve got some records that will be the perfect accompaniment.  Oh, I love dancing!”  

Sherlock looked at her incredulously, but Mycroft could tell that he wouldn’t be able to say no to his mother.  Mycroft glanced at John.  His expression was inscrutable.  He decidedthat John would be too polite to disappoint her either.  Excellent.

When they were finished with the tea, Mr. Holmes and Molly took the tea trays to the kitchen, while Mycroft cleared some space in the center of the room and Mrs. Holmes turned on the record player.  When Mr. Holmes and Molly returned, Mrs. Holmes beckoned them over.  “First the four of us will demonstrate, so you can watch the moves, and then Sherlock will show you the moves step by step.  Okay, ready?”

Mycroft took Molly in his arms, smiling down at her. Mr.and Mrs. Holmes did the same. His mother had been right about the music.  It was perfect.  Already the Latin notes were stirring his blood.  Oh, this was going to be delightful on several levels.  Molly looked up at him and shook her head slightly, her eyes full of reproof while at the same time attempting to suppress a smile. Mycroft lowered his head and inhaled the scent of her hair.  He whispered in her ear, “Ready?”

She nodded and they started to tango.  He only barely heard his mother periodically commenting to John on certain steps they were taking.  He concentrated on the woman he loved in his arms.  He truly did hope that his little brother might experience the same bliss that he did in this moment.  

When the song was over, the two couples stepped to the side.  Smiling delightedly, Mrs. Holmes said, “Now it’s your turn, John!  You’re going to love it, I’m sure.  Sherlock?”

Sherlock gave her a tight smile and stepped forward to the center of the room.  Then he turned and looked at John.  

John hesitated, his hands fisted.  “When you taught me before, we didn’t have an audience. Well, except when Mrs. Hudson stumbled upon us.”

Mrs. Holmes waved her hand.  “Well, this is how it is in most dance classes, except there would be even more eyes on you.  Relax! Go on, boys.  Sherlock, show him the steps.”  

John went up to Sherlock.  Mycroft piped up, “Don’t forget that John should be learning the lead.”

Sherlock ground out, “Yes, I know.”  He looked at John.  “Take me in your arms, John.”  John cleared his throat and complied.  “As you could see when they were demonstrating, there are similarities to the box step I taught you, just a variation.”

Everyone watched as Sherlock walked John through the steps.  Mycroft looked down at Molly.  She had been right.  It was plain as day that Sherlock was in love with John.  Because he was concentrating on showing John the steps, he left his expression unguarded.  Mycroft glanced over at their parents.  His father was smiling indulgently, his head swaying to the music.  His mother’s eyes were narrowed.  She could tell, too.  She looked over at Mycroft in askance.  He raised his eyebrows as if to say that he could see it, but had no more idea where this would lead than she did.  

After a few minutes, John stumbled, stepping all over Sherlock’s feet.  “Dammit! Sorry, Sherlock.”  

Sherlock caught him.  “It’s okay, John,” he said softly.  

John stared up at him, then quickly stepped back.  “I don’t think I’m going to get the hang of this.”

Sherlock looked disappointed.  “As you know, John, it takes practice.  When you learned the waltz, it took a very long time.”

John ground out, “I’m well aware of how long it took.  I don’t think I want to dedicate that much time to this dance.  I’m afraid the ladies will just have to be disappointed.” He went over to the nearest chair and sat down.  

Sherlock stared at him pensively for a moment and then turned towards the stair case.  “I’m going to bed.”

Mr. Holmes gave him a startled look.  “But it’s early!”

“I have reading to do.  You know there’s only so much socializing that I can take.”

“Oh, I see.  Well, once again I’m sorry that you have to share a room with John.  Usually we bunk you with Mycroft, but obviously we couldn’t do that this time.”

“It’s fine,” he said as he bound up the stairs.

Mr. Holmes looked over at John, who gave him a strained smile.  “I was in the military, Mr. Holmes.  I’m used to cramped quarters.”

Mycroft looked down at Molly, who bit her lip.  

The rest of them played board games until very late. A few times someone suggested turning in, but John kept protesting.   Finally they’d had enough and got up to go to bed.  John trailed reluctantly behind them.  As Mycroft and Molly were entering their room, Mycroft looked back and saw John open the door to his room.  Mycroft heard him say, “Oh, you’re still up.”

As they prepared for bed, Mycroft could hear voices raised.  They were arguing again.  He looked over at Molly, who had a concerned expression.  He shrugged.  “It’s definitely sexual tension.  Sherlock’s very frustrated, I’m sure.  The next few days should be very interesting!”

Molly shook her finger at him.  “Mycroft, I want you to stop tormenting Sherlock.”

He gave her a stubborn look.  “Why should I?  He’s been tormenting me!  Acting smug because he thinks he’s above falling in love.  Well, now he’ll be getting a taste of his own medicine.”  

Molly folded her arms.  “It’s not the same thing, Mycroft.  You have me.  He doesn’t have John.  Actually, he has John but only as a friend.  That’s even worse.”  Her expression was pleading.  “He’s already being tormented, Mycroft.”

Mycroft sighed and pulled Molly in for a hug.  “Fine, Molly.  I promise not to tease Sherlock.”

They climbed into bed and turned off the light. Somehow the darkness magnified the arguing voices even more.  Molly whispered, “I wish we could hear what they’re saying.”

Mycroft murmured, “I’m eternally grateful that we can’t.  I’m envious of my parents.  They are on the opposite side of the house and can’t hear a thing.”

The arguing seemed to reach a crescendo, then there was silence.  Mycroft could see Molly’s eyes widen in the ambient light of the alarm clock.  She whispered, “Why have they stopped?”

“Maybe they took mercy on us.”

“What do you think they’re doing now?”

“Molly, I don’t know and I don’t care.  I only care about what’s going on in this room.”

She gave him a quizzical look.  “What’s going on in this room?”

“At the moment, nothing.  It’s most distressing.”

He saw as realization dawned on her face.  She giggled and pulled him in for a kiss.  “Merry Christmas, Mycroft.”

“Merry Christmas, Molly mine.”

The next morning, they all gathered downstairs for breakfast.  Both Sherlock and John were unusually quiet.  For Sherlock, this was an astounding development.  Sherlock never shut up unless he was contemplating a case. After breakfast, they gathered around the tree to open presents.  

Mrs. Holmes started handing out gifts, peering at the labels and murmuring aloud.  “Here’s one to Mycroft from Molly.  This is for Sherlock from Mycroft.  Oh, this one is mine from Sherlock.  Let’s see. Sherlock, another one from you.  I can’t tell who it’s from, is it John?”

“I’ve already unwrapped John. I mean, John’s gift!  John gave it to me this morning.  The present, I mean!  I’ve already opened it.”  Mycroft looked at him in amazement.  He’d never seen Sherlock this flustered.  John was bright red.  

Mycroft looked over at Molly.  She leaned in and said very quietly in his ear.  “I think I know what happened after they stopped arguing last night.”

The day passed very pleasantly.  Sherlock was in a jovial mood.  Once, when they’d both snuck out to have a cigarette, Mycroft attempted to quiz Sherlock, but he was having none of it.  Mycroft wanted to tease him, but he remembered his promise to Molly.  He’d have to renegotiate with her, given that Sherlock’s feelings were no longer unrequited.

That night after dinner, their parents were about to set off for their after dinner walk, when Sherlock said, “I’m going up to bed now! I started this wonderful book last night and I’m dying to go read some more.  

Mr. Holmes sighed.  “Oh Sherlock, it’s Christmas.  Can’t you force yourself to socialize for one night?”

Mrs. Holmes put her hand on his arm, her gaze resting speculatively on Sherlock and John.  “Oh my dear, it’s been a very full day.  I’m sure he’s tired and just wants some private time away from all of us.”

“Very well, darling.  Let us be off.  See you tomorrow, Sherlock.”  They headed out the door.

Sherlock leapt out of his chair and started up the stairs. He turned back and looked over at John. John stood up and stretched out his arms.  “Your father is right, it has been a full day.  I’m bushed.  I think I’ll turn in as well.”  He headed for the stairs, slowly at first and then picking up speed as Sherlock bounded up the stairs.

After they disappeared from sight, Mycroft and Molly stared at each other, then burst into laughter.  “Well, Molly, it looks as if you no longer have to worry about Sherlock being tormented by John’s indifference to him.”

Molly gave him a resigned look.  “Fine, Mycroft, I release you from your promise.  You may feel free to needle Sherlock as much as you like about his hypocrisy.”

Mycroft grinned.  “I think I may actually enjoy the holidays, for once.”  He enveloped Molly into his arms.  “Merry Christmas to all, and to all…” He looked up at the top of the stairs,”…a good night.”


End file.
